“Would you like to know about our world, as it is now?” April asked. “I mean, I’m not a historian or scholar or anything, but I could tell you some things.”

  The old man smiled. It was a kind smile, almost pitying, too.

  “No,” he said, placing his hand over April’s. “I do not wish to know anything. It has been too long. But I thank you, young lady, for your offer.”

  “Well, what about the opposite?” Christopher pressed. “like, have you ever tried to get back to the real world? To your old life?”

  “Yes, long ago, I tried, thinking perhaps there was a physical path somewhere, somehow, leading to the surface and then. .”

  LeMieux shrugged. “There was not.”

  “You say you don’t want to know what’s happens?” his voice sharp. “That means you haven’t been back, ever. That you don’t cross when you sleep. That you don’t cross over to the real world.

  You have no presence there. You’re just not there anymore. Or, maybe, you are there, still, and here.”

  “No.” LeMieux sounded surprised. Interested. “No, I have never gone back. I have always assumed I was dead to that world, a missing person. But I do not know for certain, of course. Why do you ask this?”

  “We cross,” I said. “When we sleep here, we sort of wake up back there. I mean, all the while we’re awake here, we’re living our normal lives back there, eating, going to school, sleeping, going to work. There are two of us, or one in two parts, or something like that. But when we go to sleep here, it’s like the us back in the real world gets this sudden update. The two of us merge. We suddenly know or remember, our brains or memories suddenly tell us what’s been going on over here. To us. In Everworld.”

  “That must be very disturbing,” the old man commented. “I am glad I do not experience such a thing. If there is another…

  another LeMieux back there, on the other side, I do not think I want to know about him.”

  “Yeah, well, schizophrenics are us.” Christopher said.

  All of a sudden Brigid came to mind. Brigid the shape-shifting Celtic no-longer-god, not-quite-human I’d met twice now in the real world. A god didn’t necessarily need a physical pathway to travel from one world to the next. I knew that much.

  Was Brigid an Everworlder who had crossed back to the real world? A god who had taken up residence, if it could be called that, in Everworld only to leave, to cross the barrier back to the real world — forever? Is that what she meant by being trapped between two worlds? Had she ever crossed to Everworld at all?

  She’d said she’d made a decision. Had she refused to leave the old world? Why?

  “Monsieur LeMieux,” I said. “You tried to escape Everworld and failed. Do you know of anyone else who has successfully escaped? Who maybe has traveled back and forth?”

  “Do I know of one who has accomplished such a feat?” he repeated. “No. But, of course, there is talk, there are rumors. It is said that from time to time, when, no one can predict, a person of unique powers is born. A person who is a passageway, a gateway. Through that special person, one can travel back and forth, from one world to the other.” Again, the old man shrugged.

  Don’t look at Senna David don’t give her away. I said to myself and silently willed the others not to give Senna away, not to say, Well, Mr. LeMieux, this is your lucky day, meet Senna Wales.

  Nobody spoke. The old man went on. “However, such an occasion, such a person is rare. Failing his — or her —presence, it is said that the only way it is possible for one to accomplish such travel is to rewrite the Great Scroll of the Gods.”

  “The what?” Christopher asked.

  “The Great Scroll of the Gods. Again, there are rumors. It is said that this document is a plan devised long ago by the chief or father gods. In it they charted a map of Everworld, detailed its substance, stated its laws.”

  “The software!” Jalil said excitedly. “I knew it. I knew it al along.”

  I flashed a look at Senna. Her face was pinched with curiosity; she couldn’t hide her interest any longer. And I thought of Brigid again. And the enlist of what she’d said: Close the gateway, David. Kil her if you have to. The dark ones are close.

  “Where is it?” I demanded. “Where is the scroll? Who has it?” “No one knows,” LeMieux admitted. “At least, if there is someone who knows the whereabouts of this scroll, his — or her — identity is a secret. You see, the Great Scroll was hidden from al even from its creators, so that no one could ever attempt either to destroy or to own it. To manipulate it to his own selfish ends. Because you see, of course, that whoever is in possession of the Great Scroll could alter it in such a way as to change its very essence, could rewrite it to serve his own will. Could even rewrite the very existence of Everworld. Now you see why it is so important that the document be well hidden and protected.”

  Christopher ran a hand through his hair. “Holy crap. That just might be the best news I’ve heard all day. All day? What am I saying? Since I landed in this looney bin.”

  “The best news assuming we can find the Great Scroll,” April added. Then shut her mouth when she saw LeMieux’s worried frown.

  “We’re not after the scroll,” I said quickly. “What we want to do is get back to Olympus.”

  And what I want to do, I thought, is hope the others weren’t thinking what I was thinking. That the best place to hide a document so dangerous, so potentially world-altering, universe-shattering, would be beyond the bounds of that world, that universe. In the real world.

  With Brigid?

  Trying to look like I wasn’t, I glanced at Jalil. He was the one I had to be most wary of. He was the thinker, the server, probably my friend, yes, but Senna’s tolerant enemy.

  I had mentioned Brigid to him. Once. I hadn’t told him everything, nothing about my second encounter with her, but what would it take for Jalil to deduce the location of the scroll, enlist the others, find the scroll, maybe Brigid would help him, use it to kill Senna, destroy Everworld… where would I be then?

  Who would I be then?

  I met Jalil’s eyes. I hadn’t meant to. They were narrowed, snake-slitted, knowing.

  The member of the mayor’s staff who’d accompanied the mayor into the room approached with a sheaf of papers and asked for a moment of his time. LeMieux turned away to speak to the man.

  “Do you know what this means?” Senna grabbed my arm, squeezed, her eyes glittery with excitement.

  “What?” I knew, was pretty sure I knew what her answer would be, but I asked anyway.

  “The scroll, it’s what I’ve been hoping for. It would give me total, complete, absolute power over this place, over Everworld.”

  She bared her teeth.

  “Now, that is a surprise, those words coming from Senna’s mouth. You really should shoot higher in life. Senna. Dictator, is that all you want to be? You’re just not meeting your potential,”

  Christopher said.

  “I’m thinking something different”, Jalil said now, quietly. “I’m thinking that scroll could be used for a good cause. Nothing to do with Senna’s personal desire for domination. Hey, magic software, no problem. I can handle it. Software is software.”

  “Okay look, no one’s going after the scroll. The goal here, right now, the immediate goal, is to get back to Olympus. To help Zeus and his pitiful little army of humans fight off the Hetwan.”

  “Isn’t this secret piece of paper of any interest to you, oh mighty Davideus?” Christopher asked, eyes wide.

  “Of course.” If he only knew of how much interest. I could save Everworld. I could save Senna. We could go home. It could be done. We had been told so. “All I’m saying is that first things first, we get back to Athena.”

  “Your protectress.” Senna, sneering.

  I acted like I didn’t care.

  “Quiet. Here comes LeMieux.”

  The old man had finished with whatever business he’d had to attend to and rejoined us.

  “Sir, Monsieur LeMieux,” I said, “can you help us escape Atlantis? Get past Neptune and Poseidon and back to Olympus?”

  The mayor hesitated. Maybe our enthusiasm wary of our real intentions. Probably.

  “If we succeed and Olympus is saved,” I went on, “we’ll demand that Zeus intervene to protect your city, Atlantis, in the future.”

  LeMieux smiled wryly. “You have the ear of mighty Zeus?

  From what I understand, he is not much more, shall we say, reasonable, than his brother.”

  “We have the ear of Athena,” I said. I could easily imagine what sort of comment Christopher was struggling not to make.

  Yeah, and he’d like another part, too….

  Another moment passed before the mayor answered. “I will help you, my new friends, but I cannot guarantee your safety.

  The gods, Neptune and Poseidon, are angrier than ever before.

  Their might is great. They have many creatures and other, less obvious powers of destruction under their command. Now, come with me. We wil dine first, then I wil send you on your way.”

  “So, we’re looking at what, a dinner of Oysters Rockefel er, Lobster Newburg, Clams Casino? Maybe a little champagne to start, a dry white wine to finish?”

  LeMieux looked at Christopher with amusement. “I am afraid we survive on more simple fare. But the quality of the fish is superb. It far surpasses anything to be found in the common fish markets of the old world.”

  Christopher made a face. “I knew it. Sushi.”

  Chapter

  XXIII

  After dinner, the first decent meal we’d had since the food we’d been given by thankful vil agers on our trip down the Nile, LeMieux led us out of the city council building and through the streets of Atlantis.

  While we walked, April and the others chatting with the mayor, Senna walking silently beside me, my thoughts wandered.

  Went back to the strange moment of silence that had followed LeMieux’s mention of his frustration at being unable to find a worthy successor. Went back to everyone’s eyes on me. In expectation? Suspicion?

  Someday, LeMieux would be unable to govern. He knew that, acknowledged that someday soon he would fall sick and die.

  Atlantis would need a new mayor, a man of wisdom and courage, a wise warrior. Could that man be me?

  It could be me. Or not.

  I’ll try to be worthy of your sword.

  I’ll try.

  I’d said that, promised that to Sir Galahad, the perfect knight, as he lay under a pile of stones we’d pul ed together.

  And right now, it seemed, the job in front of me was to learn how to operate a rickety old diving bell. If you even operated a diving bell and didn’t just sit in one waiting to die.

  Christopher barked a laugh. “Okay, I’m just saying no.”

  It was laughable. It looked like something out of an old black-and-white silent film about the nineteenth century, a thing without any reference to twentieth-century technology, something from The Perils of Pauline, something a helpless heroine in a frilly pink dress might find herself trapped in by an elegantly thin, mustache-twirling villain bent on compromising her virtue.

  April cleared her throat. “Well, it is kind of… pret y.”

  Okay, the diving bell was beautiful, in a very, very old-fashioned way. It was made of a shiny metal, which I seriously hoped was steel, and decorated all over with lacy gold patterns. Each stud that connected each sheet of shiny metal to another was inlaid with mother-of-pearl. But….

  “It’s just so small,” Jalil muttered. “Like a Porta Potti. Like a little elevator but…” He peered through one of the small windows.

  “But with no controls. It’s a dumbwaiter. It probably leaks. I don’t understand…”

  I turned to LeMieux. “Not that we’re not grateful,” I said, “but are you sure this, er, thing, is going to get us to the surface? It looks kind of, well, old.”

  LeMieux shrugged. “There are risks, as I have told you. But there is no other way I can help you reach the light of day.”

  I looked at the others, one by one. Saw the resignation on their faces, even on Senna’s. “Then, let’s go.”

  We took our leave of the mayor of Atlantis. Promised again that we would try to enlist Zeus’s help as protector of the underwater city. Unspoken caveat: If we survived.

  We crammed ourselves into the diving bell. An Atlantean soldier closed the door behind us. And slowly, slowly the chamber began to rise along the thick, coiled rope that extended from Atlantis to the surface of the ocean.

  We ascended, April watching the beautiful underwater city disappear below us, Jalil’s mouth set in a tight line, Christopher, unbelievably, humming “Row, row, row your boat,” Senna —silent.

  Approximately ten minutes had passed when I felt the first, small tug. Then the diving bell lurched to one side and we tumbled with it, arms outstretched to break falls, knees slamming against the floor the five of us now piled into one lump too shocked, too caught off guard even to scream.

  Jalil craned his neck toward one of the small windows. “Oh man, oh man, it’s a shark!” he cried. “It’s biting through the ropes…”

  “We’re going to sink!” Christopher yelled.

  “No, we’re not, we’re going to shoot to the surface!”

  And then — it was like being on one of those amusement park rides that yank you straight straight up only to drop you straight straight down just as suddenly. But we weren’t going to drop, just continue to shoot wildly to the surface like a rocket.

  I braced myself against the wall of the diving bell as best I could. Fought the panic. “Decompression!” I said. “We’re going to get the bends.”

  Jalil shook his head, like the mad racing of this chamber of horrors wasn’t enough for him, he had to further shake it up.

  “No. Think, David. Unless the chief gods wrote something in the Great Scroll, it doesn’t exist in Everworld. You ask me, I think they know diddly-squat about atmospheric pressure, any rules of science.”

  “You’d so better be right,” Christopher wailed. And then vomited. “Sorry, man, can’t help it.”

  And then, the diving bell lurched to a stop. Not a complete stop, now we seemed to be rolling. Light flooded through one of the small, water-spattered windows. Dimmed, then shone through again. We’d broken through to the surface. The diving bell continued to bob like a cork on the waves, but at least the mad ascent had stopped. We could see sky for a second, then water, then sky again. Maybe it was all right, maybe we’d make it out of this alive. The question now: How to steer this thing to land. The more important prequestion: Could it even be steered?

  “Oh, no,” April whispered. “Listen!”

  I did. And heard through the walls of the diving bell the familiar roar of Neptune’s enraged voice. Close. Closer.

  Then… another voice, deeper but just as enraged. Neptune and Poseidon. A contest of vocal wills. Trading insults. Bellowing wordlessly.

  “The boys are at it again,” Christopher said weakly, still looking a little green. “If they see us, we’re goners.”

  Jalil lifted his face to a window. “I’m betting Neptune’s forgotten all about us already. Which doesn’t mean we aren’t going to be in the way. Which doesn’t mean we aren’t going to die.” It started. A hurricane, two hurricanes, whipped up instantaneously by the competing gods of the sea Gale-force winds, twenty-foot waves. And our diving bell was just a random piece of flotsam caught in the mother of all macho displays of immortal testosterone.

  We were in a washing machine on the spin cycle.

  We were battered and bruised and bloody. Fingers poked into eyes and feet pounded into guts. I clutched my sword as tightly to my body as I could to prevent anyone but myself from being sliced apart. Jalil’s head slammed into one of the windows and left a smear of blood. Senna’s pale face was gray. One of her hands hung strangely from her wrist. Probably broken. April’s bottom lip was torn open where she’d bit down on it. A line of blood trickled from Christopher’s left temple.

  We wouldn’t last much longer, injuries mounting, stomachs emptying. And when the gods stopped raging, when the sea calmed down again… what then? Would we simply float, bob peacefully along the surface of the ocean, a pretty antique diving bell with five dead bodies inside? Five teenagers dead of internal injuries, dehydration, starvation, take your pick.

  And then, like magic the violent heaving of the waters stopped, just stopped. And with it, the mad motion of the diving bell. The chamber was filled with groans and sobs and Christopher’s favorite mantra, holy crap holy crap holy crap.

  Now that we’d stopped being thrown around like an old beach ball, we had time to cry and wail.

  Just enough time to cry and wail, for April to whisper and pray, for Christopher to curse, for Jalil to mutter to himself, think his way calm, for Senna to close herself off completely from me, jerk away from my touch, wrap her arms around her frail battered body.

  Just enough time before the diving bell, our pretty little prison, was shoved up on the shore.

  Chapter

  XXIV

  We climbed out, pushing, tumbling, everyone crawling to a space of sand all to his or her self. Glad not to be up close and personal with one another, glad to be alone for a minute or two, to retch, lay a warm cheek on the cool sand, close eyes too weary to stay open.

  After a moment I sat up. Looked around. This was not Egypt.

  And it wasn’t anywhere near flat-topped Mount Olympus, either.

  No mountains of any sort in sight.

  The others, struggling to sit up, Jalil to stand, stretch. Senna on her back, eyes open, arms widespread, looking too like an offering to a god, like she’d looked in the mouths of Sobek’s crocodiles, staring at the sun.

  I used my sword to help me stand, leaned on it, grateful for it. We’d find shelter, take some time to rest before…

  “David!”

  I whirled. April, she was to my left, now backing away slowly toward the ocean, her eyes wide, her face upturned.

  “Holy…” Christopher scrambled on all fours, sand spraying up behind him, then leaped to his feet, turned his back to the water.

 

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